


One Year

by MollyMonster



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 02:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4729226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyMonster/pseuds/MollyMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After making a deal with a demon to save Sam's life, Dean has one year to live. This is a little one-shot to show Bobby's reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Year

One year.

That was all Dean had, one year. Bobby watched Dean get into the impala, the knowledge bitter in his mind. He was still struggling to accept it, the fact that Dean, his Dean, had one year left to live.

He roughly brushed at his face to get rid of tears, not wanting the boys to see them. Sam glanced back and waved but Dean kept his eyes down, probably to avoid seeing the disappointment in Bobby’s eyes. 

Bobby studied Dean as the young man slid into the impala. He’d always known Dean doted on his little brother, but Bobby had never realized just how much so. Not until it was too late.

But now he saw it. He saw how Dean automatically glanced over, making sure Sam was safely in the car. How he even slanted a look toward Sam’s seat belt. As he put the car into gear and began to slowly back out of the cemetery where the team had just closed a portal to hell Bobby saw that Dean kept his right hand loose on the steering wheel, ready to throw to the side in front of Sam if they should get in some sort of accident.

Seeing this and knowing that Dean had practically raised Sammy, Bobby honestly wasn’t even that surprised by what Dean had done. It was just such a _Dean_ thing to do. 

It still hurt like hell though.

“Hey Bobby; you ok?”

Bobby glanced back at the sound of Ellen’s voice. She was standing beside her own car with Jo, the two stowing away the last of their weapons.

For a moment Bobby considered telling her. Considered breaking down and telling her about what an idiot Dean was, what a brave, wonderful idgit. But he resisted. Jo was standing right there, and anyone with a brain- which seemed to be everyone but Dean- could see how she felt about the eldest Winchester.

“Yeah,” Bobby called back. “Fine. What about you two?”

“Fine, fine.” Ellen studied Bobby for a moment, then having apparently decided there wasn’t anything she could do for whatever was troubling him, got in her car and hit the gas. 

Bobby watched the two sets of lights fade into the distance. A piece of his heart seemed to go with the impala, leaving fresh tears stinging at his eyes.

He ended up walking the length of the graveyard. He felt the need to, to make sure there were no demons lurking around. And to make sure the portal was securely shut. It was, and for several minutes Bobby found himself standing before the entrance before his eyes came to rest on the graves surrounding him. Had it really only been a half hour since him and his boys had stopped the end of the world there? Had it really only been a day since Bobby had been thoroughly kicked in the nuts by Dean’s news?

He could remember times when Dean was a kid. Only in body, mind you, John had never let Dean truly be a kid. But occasionally John had taken Sam hunting and left Dean in Bobby’s care, and it was those times Bobby had done his utmost to give Dean some semblance of a normal childhood. He’d played ball with Dean, taken him to see movies. He’d devoted their entire time together to Dean, whatever Dean wanted. No strings, no worrying about what his father would think. For once Dean got to be a kid.

Then John would come back and the smile would fade from Dean’s face. He’d forget about playing ball, and suddenly it would all be Sammy again. Did Sammy do his homework, did Sammy have enough to eat? Bobby knew Dean had filled the role of mother and father for his little brother. But for Bobby, Dean had filled the role of a son.

Now Dean had only one year left to live.

As the realization finally sank in Bobby allowed himself for the first time in years to sink to the ground, put his head in his hands, and sob.

* * * * * 

Bobby wasn’t sure how long it was until he rose again. All he knew was that eventually his tears ran dry and he knew what he had to do and he had to do it _then_.

It didn’t take long to collect everything he needed. He had probably every weapon and talisman and herb at his house, all stocked piled to kill monsters. Bobby had intended to leave it all to the boys when he died. He still would, but he hadn’t planned on there being only one of them on the receiving end of it. He hadn’t meant for one of his kids to die before him.

There was a crossroad about ten minutes from Bobby’s house. Dirt road, deserted. No chance of being disrupted, no chance of civilians showing up inconveniently and providing a nice little midnight snack for whatever showed up.

The first thing Bobby did was paint a devil’s trap. Red, the color of blood. Bobby double layered the trap just to be safe. Then he dug a hole at the center and set a little metal box in it. In the box he had put all the necessary voodoo stuff and his own photo; a wallet sized wedding photo that Bobby had kept carefully preserved. 

It didn’t take long for a demon to show up. The demon was possessing a young woman, wearing a black one shoulder dress and heels that were sharper than some of Bobby’s knives. As Bobby turned to the demon its red eyes flashed, assuring Bobby that it was what he had summoned. 

Bobby felt disgust rear up in him. He was tempted to exorcise the damn thing right there and then, to send it back to hell. Instead he straightened his jacket, narrowed his eyes, and got down to business.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

The demon nodded, a cruel smile tainting its lips. “Bobby Singer. Widowed, hunter. You’ve bagged lots of beasts, old man.”

Bobby snorted, but didn’t confirm or deny the demon’s words. Even if the mention of his wife sent a wave of red cascading across his vision, and he had to struggle to not start the incantation.

“Good. I’ve got a track record. So I guess you black eyed bastards know I’m not someone who goes kidding around.”

The demon nodded, glanced down at its nails, and then looked back to Bobby.

“As much as I love to hear hunters waste time bragging about their resumes, I’ve got places to be. So either exorcise me or make a deal with me already.”

Based on the stiffening to the demon’s back, Bobby suspected the demon thought he was going to exorcise it. None of them would have ever dreamed Bobby would be making a deal. Bobby wouldn’t have believed it himself if he wasn’t standing there, hearing the giggle of a ten year old boy who’d grown up too fast in his head.

“My son,” he started. “He’s got a year to live. You’re going to trade my life for his.”

The demon blinked in surprise. Bobby took a deep breath, lifting his chin and glaring at the thing. He wasn’t taking back his offer. He wasn’t going to let Dean die.

“Well, well, this is interesting.” The demon leaned forward, stopped from sidling up to Bobby only by the devil’s trap that held it. “I honestly didn’t expect this.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, forcing down his pounding heart. “Whatever. Do we have a deal or not?”

The demon tilted its head to the side. “I don’t remember you ever having kids. So who is it who’s gotten under your skin?”

Bobby lifted his chin and kept his mouth shut, wondering how it was demons seemed to know everything about everyone.

“Oh, come on. What am I going to do?”

When Bobby only raised an eyebrow the demon sighed. “I’m gonna need a name to complete the deal,” it pointed out.

“Dean.” Bobby spat out the name, resisting the urge to start the exorcism. “Dean Winchester.”

The demon took a step back, and recognition flashed across its face. 

“Winchester,” it spat. It shook its head from side to side as though trying to get water out of its ears, then looked back at Bobby. There was a sadistic grin stretching across its mouth now. “Sorry, can’t do.”

Bobby took a step forward, and had the satisfaction of seeing the demon jump away. “What?”

The demon sighed. “I know about Dean-o’s little deal. His life for Sammy’s. I can’t make any deals on his behalf. He’s not getting out of this one.”

Bobby gritted his teeth and raised the colt. There was nothing left in it but the demon didn’t know that, and Bobby knew it recognized the gun. The thing’s stolen face paled, and its red eyes flickered in fear.

“You wanna try again?” Bobby asked.

The demon scowled and stepped forward. It and Bobby were only inches apart, separated only by the red paint of the devil’s trap.

“I really wish I could,” the demon said. “As much as Winchester’s worth down below, you’re worth even more. You can’t imagine the raise I’d get for bringing you in. But I can’t. Any deals concerning the kid are off limits. Sorry Bobby; you can’t save him.”

It was telling the truth. Bobby could tell that much. There was no saving Dean. Anger welled up inside Bobby, reaching a level so much higher than fury. Seeing the look in his eyes the demon backed away, but all Bobby did was grab an old, leather bound book from the ground and flip to the page he had earmarked.

“Exorcizamus te,” he began. 

The demon’s head swished from side to side, like Bobby’s words were a fly buzzing around its ears. 

“Omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas. Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii. Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”

The demon was writhing within the devil’s trap, screaming as it tried to escape. Thinking of how in a year Dean’s soul would be doing something similar in hell, Bobby let the power of the incantation mix with his rage, fueling his words. His voice rose, the fury in it becoming more pronounced until Bobby was all but roaring.

“Ergo, draco maiedicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”

With a final scream the demon threw back its head, black smoke billowing out. The smoke curved down and spiked into the ground, forced back to hell. The girl the thing had possessed collapsed to the ground.

“Dammit!”

Bobby flung the book to the ground and screamed into the night air, cursing and ranting until his voice croaked out. Then he stood there for several minutes, panting and struggling not to break down again. 

Eventually he managed to compose himself enough to finish the job. He went to the girl and checked her pulse, then moved her off to the side of the road, scraped at the devil’s trap with a shovel until it was destroyed, and removed his demon summoning box from the ground. 

Tossing the box onto the passenger seat of his car, he pulled out his cell phone, dialing nine-one-one. After leaving a vague message about an unconscious girl on the side of the road he left, dirt puffs chasing his beat up old truck down the road.

When Bobby got home he got a beer from the fridge, sent a few choice curse words to wherever John Winchester’s spirit was, and vowed to never tell anyone what he had just tried to do. Then he went to the store, got everything he needed to make his wife’s apple pie, and called his boys to tell them to get their asses to his house.

Dean had one year left. And dammit if Bobby wasn’t going to make the most of it.


End file.
